


Wolfe in Sheep's Clothing

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: The Great Wall (2017)
Genre: Escapism, F/M, Tovar takes no shit, the bodyguard and the princess, tropey medieval romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Taken from her rural country life to town by her father for marriage, Beatrix Wolfe nonetheless has her own ideas and will not be “brought to heel,” so her father hires a couple of ruffian mercenaries to keep a close eye on her.
Relationships: Pero Tovar x Original Female Characters
Comments: 27
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

“She is quite wild, I am sorry to say. Regretfully, I’ve been focusing my efforts on my land, my tenants, my small-holdings, and my presence at court. My daughter has been raised by her mother, who has some… rather modern ideas.” Baron Thomas Wolfe chewed his lip, shaking his head, quiet.

The mercenary Captain nodded thoughtfully, nodding. “I see, my Lord.”

“I have been through six knights of the realm just this month. Learned men who claim to defend the honour of highborn ladies - all turned tail, saying my daughter is quite impossible to manage.”

The Captain smiled. “She is but one woman, Sire. How hard can it be? I have two men in mind. They are rough sorts, but unlikely to be swayed by even the most… modern tactics your daughter employs.”

“God help me, I do love her. But she will be no use as a wife or indeed a mother of the Wolfe lineage, without being brought sharply to heel.”

A heavy bag of gold changed hands. The Captain weighed the pieces in his palm, smiled. “They will be with you on the morrow.”

*****

“Escape attempts - six last week. Threats of indecent exposure to those tasked with protecting her -  _ seven _ \- four of those yesterday. Lewd comments - four, once all within an hour. She also threatened two of the knights at the point of a sword.”

Pero Tovar exchanged a glance with his fellow mercenary, William Garin. William’s mouth twitched into a smile.

“Forgive me, Captain,” William began in his Irish brogue, “but this is  _ one  _ woman we’re being assigned to?”

The Captain’s eyes sparked with mischief, but his tone remained serious. “Indeed. I know you two work well together. William, you’re the best marksman I’ve seen in all my years of combat. If anyone can skewer the skirt of a gently-bred runaway to the trunk of a tree without marking her skin, it’s you.”

William accepted this with a small nod.

“And you, Spaniard. You’ll stay by her side most of the time. Your appearance has a twofold benefit - her suitors will be dissuaded from attempting to sample her wares  _ and _ she is more likely to fear you than the prettily groomed knights who’ve let her lead them around by their cocks.”

William coughed out a laugh.

Pero gave a curt nod. He was well used to his appearance being a tool to make men fear him. The scar over his eye gave him an edge of danger and the air of a wounded animal; fearless, desperate. The heavy beard and unkempt hair he usually didn’t bother to tidy didn’t make him popular among the womenfolk, but then, a sellsword’s raison d’etre was never going to be romantic love.

“Use force where necessary. As I understand it, this girl has been raised in the country by her mother, who seems to possess many a romantic notion. The girl has been allowed to run wild and is staying at Baron Wolfe’s manor house to prepare for marriage to one of many suitors for her hand. She is, by all accounts, clever, and may try to trick you into doing her bidding.”

“ _ Si, Capitàn, _ ” Pero replied, as William said, “Understood, Sir.”

“You ride out tonight. The horses are being prepared. Get some sleep. Dismissed.”

The Captain disappeared behind the heavy oak door of his quarters in the barracks.

William huffed out a laugh. “I may be overreaching, but this seems a little too easy, don’t you think? The sum of gold we’re being offered for… stopping a maid from running back to the country?”

Pero smiled without humour. “If there’s one thing we have learned in all our years together,  _ amigo,  _ isn’t it that nothing is what it seems?”

“That’s the truth,” William agreed, rubbing a hand over his broad, genial face. “Let’s do as the Captain suggests.”

They bedded down in the shared mercenary bunks, a sparse room where each man had a neatly made assigned bed. A hearth blazed at each end of the room and Pero sighed as he undressed and slid under the covers, a rough-hewn fabric made soft by years of use and laundering.

The hearth had warmed his utilitarian bed a little and he luxuriated in the tiny comfort, wondering what his bed would be like at the Wolfe Manor house. He’d passed it a time or two as part of a protection detail for a wealthy merchant’s travelling family. Silk pillows? He laughed silently at himself even as he thought it. As if the Baron would care for such a detail for sellswords.

And the young Wolfe. What would she be like? Pero’s knowledge of gently-bred ladies was limited to viewing them across crowded banqueting chambers, or riding behind them as they sat inside plush carriages. He imagined pale skin, soft hands, fine clothes. But that image didn’t marry up with the list of …accomplishments the Captain had read out. How could  _ one woman _ cause so much trouble?

He fell asleep to the sound of William snoring a few bunks over.

*****

“ _ Beatrix Katharine Wolfe, get down here this instant!” _

“Coming, father!” Bea yelled back, half her body dangling over the window ledge of her room at Wolfe Manor, one leg on the sturdy apple tree branch. She took a deep breath, pulled herself the final foot and rolled on to the bed. Moving it to the window had been a stroke of genius, and while it was heavy, Sir Adam hadn’t minded moving it for her at all. Being nearer the window helped her breathe at night, she’d explained, tearfully, as she had  _ such  _ poorly lungs.

She dragged her favourite comb through her hair, inspecting her dress for leaves. It looked all right. Her father wouldn’t be surprised to see her in such a state, but he would be disappointed.

Then again, his disappointment at seeing her a little bedraggled could hardly compare to her disappointment at having to marry someone of  _ his _ choosing.

He’d have to get over it.

She skidded out of her room and down the stone hallway towards the steps, remembering to smooth her hair. As a last minute addition, she dug in the pockets her mother had custom-sewn into her dress and drew out the circlet she’d brought with her from the country. It was fashioned of thin copper and bedecked with fabric flowers, and she felt rather like a Fae Princess wearing it.

It was a pure bonus that her father hated it.

Bea slowed her pace as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Her father’s voice carried. “...And here she is now. Come, Bea.”

Smoothing her hands over her face, Bea entered the room.  _ Ah, the latest victims, _ she mused, taking in the two tall, stocky armoured men standing before her father.

“May I present Lady Beatrix Katharine Wolfe of Sussex.”

“My Lady,” the fair-haired soldier intoned, his voice lilting with the music of Ireland. He was clean-shaven, his hair tied back in a neat que.

The darker man, his skin a pale gold, his unkempt hair and scruffy beard a tangle of glossy oak brown, nodded silently. The wicked scar that crossed his left eye gave her pause for a moment; not because she feared him, but because it was a curious injury - doubtless bestowed on him by someone looking to make a permanent statement. The soldier’s eyes, the deep hue of brown agate, held her gaze for a second before he looked away, out of respect, Bea assumed.

His gaze flicked to the table behind her father, laden with food. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

They both wore heavy armour. The Irish one carried a quiver of arrows on his back; the darker-skinned man wore twin sheathed swords.

“Bea, I’m assigning these men to protect you during your stay here. One of them will accompany you at all times, except whilst you sleep, of course.”

“Of course, father.” Bea’s lips twitched. If Baron Wolfe could lash her to the bed, he would have. She wasn’t ruling it out for the future.

“This is William, and this is Tovar,” her father added. They looked incongruous against the backdrop of her father’s fine tapestries and the finely crafted table laid with sweetmeats, bread and nuts.

Tovar’s gaze lingered on it again. These were soldiers. Men unused to fine living. Bea turned that over in her mind, wondering how to use it to her advantage. Every man had his price; every man had his weakness; his soft underbelly.

Some took longer to find than others.

The Irishman’s brow furrowed. Bea knew he was trying to ascertain what made her so hard to manage. Right now, she imagined he couldn’t fathom it. Was she not the picture of demure maidenhood? Skirts in place, kid slippers silent on the stone floors, hair combed(ish, at least)?

“What are your plans for today, my Lady?” William asked.

“A little sketching. Perhaps a trip to market to pick out some new dress fabric. I am bored of my brown riding habit.”

She hardly ever used a riding habit, but no one knew that.

Tovar and William exchanged glances.

“Very well,” William agreed. “Tovar will accompany you to the market. I’ll take over after the midday meal.”

Bea gave them what she hoped was a very prim smile. “May I prepare myself to ride to the market, father?”

Baron Wolfe sighed. Bea knew that he knew that she was just acting the perfect daughter. “Very well. You, Spaniard - go with her. Wait in her chambers while she changes.”

Tovar nodded. “ _ Si, _ my Lord.”

His voice was deep, the baritone silky, a little musical with the cadence of his homeland. Bea thought it wouldn’t be a hardship to listen to it. Perhaps she’d convince him to speak more. All men enjoyed talking about themselves.

“Dismissed,” Wolfe added shortly, and Bea crossed out of the room, the tall, broad Spaniard on her heels.

Halfway up the stairs, she turned. “What made you leave Spain?”

He said nothing.

“Too hot? It’s often cold and rainy here.”

Still nothing.

“It’s going to be  _ very _ boring if you never speak.”

“ _ Princesca,  _ I am accustomed to long silences. Boredom is  _ not  _ a concern.”

They reached her chambers. Bea pushed the door open, noticing that Tovar did not rush to open it for her, as the knights she was used to always had. It made a refreshing change. 

“Perhaps you will help me choose a dress to wear to the market,” she began, feeling him out. What would make him balk? Where would he draw the line?

The Spaniard folded his arms, leaned back against the closed door. “And what would I know about women’s clothes, hmmm?”

Bea chewed her lip. He was going to be tricky. The Irishman seemed friendlier.  _ I’ll try and crack him first. _

“Very well. Wait here. I will change.”

He grunted an agreement. Bea took one more look at his face. He had good cheekbones. A full lower lip. He might even be handsome if he was sheared. And washed.

A quick flash of what he might look like under the thick hair and beard, swarthy, those dark eyes intense, made her steps falter for a second.

_ The most comely knights in the land never made me feel thus. _

Abandoning her plan of trying to scare off the Spaniard this early in the game, Bea dressed quickly in a plain, forest green day dress, tying a thin fabric belt at the waist. Her father made her wear corsets to meet her suitors, but when she travelled, she preferred comfort, as did her mother.

_ I miss her. _ Perhaps a letter from Lady Wolfe would arrive today.

Bea had been incensed when a convoy arrived to take her to the Manor,  _ sans _ her mother. But she’d quickly channelled that anger into planning her escape - from this place and an arranged marriage.   
Her attempts had been thwarted thus far, but it didn’t put her off. On the contrary, it only reinforced her determination to return to her life of freedom in the countryside; climbing trees, archery, the study of herbs and plants, snaring her own food, wearing breeches.

She rounded the thick wooden screen she used for privacy when undressing. Tovar was still in position, back to the door, arms folded. He looked as if he’d barely moved a muscle.

“Hungry? We can get some refreshments at the market.”

He grunted.

Bea sighed internally. “Come along then, I am ready.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pero discovers what Bea does on her secretive trips to "buy fabric" in town.

Lady Beatrix Katharine Wolfe was very much  _ not _ what Pero had expected.

In his mind’s eye he’d seen a waif of a girl, perhaps sixteen or eighteen, slender and pale from being closeted indoors.

_ Bea _ was none of those things. Pero estimated her to be perhaps twenty-five summers - an advanced age for an unmarried woman.

Her cheeks were rosy, as if she’d been running around under the sun. She’d greeted them in a plain, dove grey dress, no adornments on her aside from the fanciful flower circlet atop her corn-meadow gold hair. Her generous figure would have been more appropriate for a milkmaid or bar wench. She looked, all told, like a well-fed, healthy country woman. 

He desired her. What man with blood in his veins would not?

But, Pero hadn’t lived this long as a sellsword by letting his cock do the thinking. He’d faced much worse than this. Here there was no danger of losing a limb, of contracting a disease from sleeping on the ground with rats.

Desire never killed a man. Not when there were several whorehouses a short stroll away.

Outside the Manor, a fine carriage waited, twin black horses already bridled, a coachman seated.

Bea strode forward and opened the carriage door herself, glancing at him.

Pero knew she expected him to be fazed by her unladylike behaviour, but in truth, he did not care. He was being paid to keep her heart beating and to ensure her body remained in Sussex and untouched by over zealous suitors. It seemed, by far, to be the easiest coin he would ever earn.

“Well, come on then,” Bea demanded from inside the carriage.

Pero hesitated. “You wish me to ride inside. With you?”

“You can hardly sit on the roof, can you?”

With some reservation, feeling like a street dog about to attend a party of beautifully groomed monastery cats, Pero climbed into the carriage and sat opposite Bea. The seat gave gently under him, the cushion plump.

How long since he had felt something so soft?

Perhaps Bea’s skin would rival this fabric.

He reminded himself  _ not _ to walk down that road.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Bea asked, looking out of the slatted windows as the coachman pulled on the reins to coax the horses into a trot. The wheels rumbled along the gravel path down through the Wolfe land.

Pero grunted, folding his arms, unwilling to give away his pleasure in the softness underneath him.

“What shall we have to eat at the market, hmm? Something sweet perhaps? Or some fine dried meat. The honey roasted ham sold outside the tavern is quite something.”

Pero stared out of the slatted carriage windows. “I know what you are doing, señorita.”

“And what is that?” She asked sweetly.

“You aim to distract me with the luxuries you think have been denied me, as a soldier.”

She turned to the window. “I was merely thinking you needed a little something to eat.”

Pero huffed. “I have gone without food for days, and without anything but dry tack for weeks. If you think to trick me,  _ princesa, _ think again.”

She frowned. “I’m not a princess.”

Pero raised his eyebrows and made a show of looking around the plush interior of the carriage.

“Well, fine. But I’m not enjoying it,” she protested.

Pero couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. “As you say.”

They passed the rest of the journey in silence. Pero glanced at Bea occasionally; could see the wheels turning in her mind. What to say. How to get under his skin.

Well, this beat constant fighting, sleeping in the dirt, cloak and dagger missions. His old bones could get used to this.

“We’re here, my lady,” the coachman announced, rapping on the roof of the carriage.

“Thank you. Wait here until we’re finished?” Bea called from the window, opening the door herself and hopping out. She ferretted in her pocket, offered the coachman a coin. “Why don’t you get yourself a pie?”

“Much obliged, my lady.”

Pero’s stomach growled as he followed Bea out of the carriage, the cobblestones hard under his worn boots..

She turned, mischief in her eyes. “We’ll get you a pie, too.”

He scowled. “I said nothing.”

“Your stomach spoke for you. You don’t have to eat dry tack now. Unless you want to. I’m sure Cook could produce some.”

Barely suppressing a shudder, Pero shook his head. “You are too kind.”

Bea laughed out loud. “Oh, you’re  _ so _ much more fun than the straight-laced knights father secured at first. Not a single shred of humour in their chivalrous bodies.”

Pero grunted a response, his eyes trained on the busy marketplace. Bea’s forest green dress shone in the midst of the drab-attired common folk in their blacks, brown and tan garb. 

Cheerful hand-sewn bunting flirted between the marquee roofs of the market stalls as fishwives haggled; tailors boomed out their wares, children ran through puddles, laughing and playing.

One ran up to Bea and tugged at her skirt; a child of indeterminate gender who could have been perhaps six years old.

“Bea! Bea! You came!”

“I said I would.”

The child left muddy handprints on Bea’s dress but if she noticed, she did not say. “Is it time? I have told the others?”

Pero watched the exchange, his hand on his sword hilt. Scruffy urchins often hid ulterior motives behind dirty, imploring faces. He knew - he’d been one.

Sometimes still felt like one. Out of place, begging for scraps, looking in from the outside. Always on the outside.

“It’s time. I have an hour,” Bea agreed. “Come, Tovar, is it?”

He frowned. “You said you wanted to buy fabric.”

“And we will, but your love of haberdashery will have to wait. Come.” She had one hand in the grubby’s child’s and she reached for him with the other.

The urchin’s eyes widened.”Is he coming?”

“Yes, but he’s a pussycat,” Bea assured the child.   
Pero huffed, staying still. He didn’t want to be led into a trap, and he’d fallen for enough doe-eyed women and scrappy, adorable street urchins to be more wary than most.

The child eyed him. Little thing was skin and bone, wearing clothes that had likely not been mended or washed for days.

Despite himself, Pero’s heart cracked, a little. So it was still in there, after all. He brushed off Bea’s hand and knelt before the child, whose brown eyes were large in its pale face. 

“ _ Conejita.  _ I will not hurt you. I swear it.”

The child reached out, a finger brushing the bottom edge of Tovar’s scar. “Someone hurt you.”

“A long time ago.” Pero glanced up at Bea. She watched with interest, silent.

“It makes you look scary,” the child said at length.

“All the better to protect princesses with,  _ no? _ How shall I scare away fearsome dragons if I look like the pussycat the  _ princesa _ says I am?”

The child chuckled. “Come with us then.”

Pero stood, his old heart aching a little.

Bea sent him a look that was impossible to read as the child tugged her away. 

Pero followed, already feeling that he was in far deeper than he could ever have anticipated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pero finds out more about Bea.

Halfway to the back of the fishing net weaver’s shop, Bea stopped and checked her pockets for the coins she always kept squirrelled away for her twice-weekly trip to market. It was getting harder to invent excuses to go, to see these children, but she had managed with the empty-headed knights because they’d wanted to peacock around. Throw their skills and largesse in the common folk’s faces.

She did not think she would get so lucky with Tovar. His chestnut-brown eyes seemed to see everything; see through her. 

The edge of the metal bit comfortingly into her skin. Tovar remained a constant shadow as she paused by a pie hawker’s stall, browsing momentarily before choosing three medium-sized pies with indeterminate filling. They were hot and nourishing, and would make small bellies stop rumbling; nothing else mattered.

The hawker took the coins and wrapped the pies in waxed parchment.

Tovar eyed Bea as she took the pies, warm in her arms, and then followed the child around to the back of the cramped houses.

He walked silently behind her, with the grace of a predator. She didn’t feel afraid - he would not hurt her or the children; she was sure of that.

But less sure of what he would or would not relate back to her father.

The well to do, lofty suitors who came courting would not like it if their future bride was seen feeding peasants.

Bea could not care any less about those stuffed-shirt peahens. But she  _ did _ care about her father. 

Unfortunately. 

It was most inconvenient. As were most feelings.

“Miss Bea!” Agnes called.

“Coming!”

Tovar grabbed her hand. Bea glanced back. “What?”

“Is it safe?” He muttered, eyes dark, casting around the narrow alley.

Bea jerked her arm free, ignoring the fact that none of the peahens previously assigned to her had questioned her safety. “Is providing food and education to children safe? Perhaps not, but it is  _ needed.” _

If she thought he would baulk, she was wrong. He nodded stiffly. “Very well. Let us proceed then. Allow me to walk before you.”

Bea stepped aside with reluctance.

She and Tovar picked their way down the dirty alley - it smelled like the midden it was - towards the back of the weaver’s shop. Amid piles of netting to be fixed, which stank of fish, sat six children, Agnes one of them.

They broke into smiles when they saw her, and Bea dropped to her knees and threw out an arm. The children, skin and bone and smiles and laughter, crowded her.

Tovar stood behind her, a looming, silent shadow.

Agnes climbed on to Bea’s lap - weighing almost nothing - and peered at Tovar.

Bea grinned. “See?” she murmured, quietly but loud enough for the Spaniard to hear, “A pussycat.” She lifted a grinning Agnes off her lap and unwrapped the pies, taking a small, blunt knife from her pocket. Cutting each of the three pies in two, she let the children feast. They ate quickly, barely chewing, eyes darting around, as if the precious food might be taken from them at any second.

Tovar stood silently behind her. Bea looked around at him, wondering at his thoughts. His expression was unreadable, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The children licked their hands clean and then, using the knife and the earth outside the weaver’s shop, they worked with Bea on their letters. Agnes could write her name perfectly legibly now; she was the brightest of this ragtag bunch. If the girl had been a little older, Bea would have found a way to have her trained as a lady’s maid; perhaps she still could. Just a little more time to work on her father.

If she had to wed a strutting peahen then she would, but by the grace of God, she would take as many of these children with her, give them a better life, any way she could. If that meant working in the kitchens of Bea’s egotistical husband, then so be it, at least they would go to sleep with full bellies and underneath a thatched roof. Some here did not have that.

Why should families like her have everything and these children have nothing, simply because of which side of the river they had been birthed on? It made Bea’s heart twist.

Tovar shielded his eyes from the sun with one large hand. “ _ Princesa,” _ he called.

Bea grunted, distracted. “Don’t call me that.”

“It will be time for the midday meal soon,  _ si? _ I must escort you back.”

Six little faces looked up at her, big eyes sad.

“She will come back,” Agnes promised her little band of followers. “Right?”

“Right,” Bea affirmed. She brushed off her skirts, sighed. “But for now, I have to go.”

Tovar offered her his hand. 

She toyed with ignoring it to be spiteful, but didn’t see the point. She placed her hand in his, felt his skin, sword-callused, warm. 

“The fabric?” he asked, softly.

Bea met his gaze. 

That he would remember what he now knew to be a blatant lie, that he would remind her, give her a chance to save face, made something like a pang squeeze her heart.

“Yes. The fabric.”

He released her hand as she stood, waving goodbye to the children. Every time she came down here, to the market place with its bustle and mud and dirt and smiles and clinking of coins, she left a little piece of her heart in Agnes’ small, grubby palms.

“Go on,” Bea snapped to Tovar as they walked away. “Tell me that I’m wasting my time with those urchins.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked - difficult to see properly under that beard - and his dark eyes met hers for a moment. 

“Cat got your tongue?” she baited, feeling waspish, spoiling for a fight, cross at having to leave the children to lunch with her father in a manor she didn’t belong inside.

Tovar stopped in his tracks, pinned her with those big, bottomless soulful eyes. “I was such an urchin,  _ Princesa. _ And I would have given all my grubby hands could hold for a single taste of the kindness you show those wretched children.”

And he stormed off ahead.

Bea looked after him, noticed the set of his shoulders, and for the first time in a long time, felt utterly sick of her own company.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William has a close shave with Bea.

Luncheon passed as slowly as usual. Bea’s father regaled her with this week’s list of suitors - only two - and their various accomplishments. The third had become struck down with some sort of foot-related malady which her father started to expound upon in too much detail. Bea feigned a coughing fit until he changed the subject, but his raised brow said he knew her game.

Nevertheless, he indulged her and they spoke about the autumnal plants flowering in the gardens.

“No letter from Mama today?” Bea asked, hoping perhaps he’d forgotten.

“Not today.”

She swallowed her disappointment and pushed the last bites of quail around her plate, trying to drum up some interest.

It was a feast for the senses, all the meals here were, but her stomach barely growled. She would have been just as happy with her mother’s cook’s plain, fresh fare.

“Where are the soldiers eating?”

“In the servants’ quarters,” her father replied, brow furrowing. “You want them to eat here? As the knights did? You need to learn to behave like the Lady of a Manor you’ll soon be, Beatrix.”

Bea swallowed back her disappointment. “Very well, father.”

He quirked a brow. “I know that tone. It means you’re biding your time until you can find a way around me.”

Bea dipped her head, her face flushing.

“Beatrix.” Her father took her hand, waiting until she looked at him. “Do you think I wouldn’t like you to live wild in the country? But your mother has done you no favours. You must take your place among your family line, like it or not.”

_ I don’t like it, _ Bea thought. But she could have it much worse. As fathers went, she believed hers was lenient. For now.

If she kept refusing suitors, though-

Lord Wolfe released her hand. “Do not forget that Sir Gareth will be joining us for dinner. Do not be late, and for the Lord’s sake, do something with your hair. All right?” he added, softening his tone a little.

“Yes, Father.”

“Good.” He looked as if he would perhaps add something, but then waved a servant over. “We are finished here.”

The young man bowed. “Yes, my Lord.”

Beatrix sat at the table for a few minutes, idly turning the cloth napkin between her fingers.

Lord Wolfe paused at the door. “Your company for the afternoon, Beatrix.”

When Bea turned, William stood in the doorway. His heavy beard caught the afternoon light from the dining chamber window, and she had a sudden idea.

“William?”

Yes, my lady?”

“I think you could do with some...smartening up.”

His brows lifted for a second. “As you say, my Lady.”

*******

William eyed Bea suspiciously as she soaped his bearded jaw. “You have  _ used _ one of those before, haven’t you, my lady?”

Bea turned the cut-throat razor over in her hands. It glinted in the light of the bathing chamber. “No, but how hard can it be? Just scrape the hair off. Correct?”

William seemed to sort of shrink in his chair. “I, ah, believe that’s the way of it, yes.”

Tapping the razor in her hands, Bea tilted her head, considering. “How long since you’ve been clean shaven?”

“Years, my lady.” He leaned away just a fraction; but Bea saw the move.

For a moment she pretended to study the way he shifted in the chair. “William, I’m shaving your face. Not your balls.”

He barked out a nervous laugh.

A rap at the door made Bea turn. “Come.”

“My lady.” The maid Bea has been assigned here, a timid, mousey-haired woman, bowed deeply and kept her head down when she walked forward. “I was asked to assist you.”

“Ah yes. Come, Matilda.” Bea beckoned with her free hand. “I was about to shave William. William, this is my lady’s maid, Matilda. Matilda, meet William.”

The maid raised her gaze for a moment, and William met it. Matilda’s cheeks flushed and she looked away.

Bea watched the exchange with interest.

“Matilda, the bowl, if you would.”

The maid wordlessly held the bowl out to William’s right side. Bea dipped the razor in the water and began to gently scrape at William’s heavy beard. Hanks of it dropped into the water, and after each pass, Bea rinsed the blade. A bead of sweat rolled down William’s temple as she worked.

“Afraid?” Bea teased. “Of a woman?”

“Only a fool isn’t afraid of a blade near his neck,” William said, moving his mouth as little as possible when replying.

Bea smiled. “You and Tovar. You’re different from the others.”

“As are you.” He stilled again when she scraped another few hanks of dark blond beard from his jaw, moving the blade with care.

“Never been assigned to busywork before?” When he arched a brow, Bea rolled her eyes. “I know what this is. I’m not an infant who needs to be minded. My father merely wants to ensure I don’t flee back to the country, or embarass myself before he can find a local lord I’m willing to marry.”

“And do you want to? Marry, I mean?”

Bea smiled without humour. “How different the world of a woman is. You, William, are the first person ever to ask me that question.” She scraped gently at the curve where his jaw met his ear; more hair fell away. A curl landed on Matilda’s hand and William reached up to brush it away; his touch lingering a fraction longer than was seemly.

_ Interesting. _

“There.” Bea rinsed the blade, shaved off a few of the straggling hairs, then set the razor in the bowl. “Matilda, the looking glass, if you please.”

The maid set the bowl down on the tall, oak Welsh dresser by the window, and fetched the looking glass. Recently polished, it shone in the afternoon light.

“Wait one moment.” Bea rummaged in her pocket for a strip of leather she used to tie her hair back - a fashion her father  _ detested _ \- and gathered William’s hair into a tail. “There. You look a little roguish; I like it.”

Matilda tilted the glass obligingly.

William admired himself for a moment. “Am I more pleasing to you like this, my Lady? More fitting to be your guard?”

Bea’s brows raised in surprise. “It’s not about appearances, William. To be frank with you, it is either find ways to entertain myself under my father’s arrest, or go quite mad. Do you think the Spaniard would consent to being sheared?”

William smiled at the term. “We are in your employ, are we not? I should like to see his reaction to it, though. I should like that very much.”

*******

Bea found Tovar in the Manor courtyard. Apples hung heavy from the trees, a bright green, their flesh perfectly ripe. Bea picked one, and as she approached Tovar, he turned to face her.

He wore a clean black tunic, belted at the waist, a sword in a scabbard at his right hip. The afternoon sunlight picked out the dark brown slices in his black hair, highlighting the richness of the shade. Would it be soft?

To distract herself, she offered the apple. 

“I am to be Adam, no? Taking a bite of the forbidden fruit?”

“Did anyone tell you it’s forbidden?”

His dark gaze was on her face when he replied, softly, “fruit as enticing as this is always forbidden,  _ Princesa. _ ”

Bea frowned, slipping the apple into her pocket. “Don’t call me that. Can’t you call me Bea? Or even Beatrix?”

Tovar’s hand curled into a fist at his side. “It would not do to become over familiar.  _ Princesa. _ ”

She scoffed, walked away a few paces.

“It is your time with William, no? But you sought me out.”

“Yes.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why? You wish to rub salt into my wound, hmmm? To discover more about my less than illustrious past?”

“No.” Her throat closed. “No. Not at all, Tovar. You have no reason to trust me, but I adore those children. I would bring them all here if I could.”

His mouth ticked up into a half-smile, warming his bottomless, ale-brown eyes. “A manor of waifs and strays?”

“Better than a Manor where the Lords eat well while the wretched others starve,” she bit back, then sighed. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. It’s just…. Things should be different.”

Tovar’s eyes went wide for a second. “You did not come here to apologise to me,  _ Princesa. _ Tell me what it is you want.”

Bea stuffed her hands in her pockets, because she wanted to touch the Spaniard. Feel the drum of his heart under her palms. Breathe him in.

And that reminded her that none of the peacocking suitors her father arranged her made her feel thus. It excited her; it unsettled her.

“I just shaved William’s beard off,” she told him, her fingers brushing the smooth green apple skin in her pocket. “And I want to ask if I can practice on you, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pero gets shaved.

“Wipe that smile off your fool face,  _ amigo, _ or I will do it for you with my knife,  _ no? _ ” Pero growled.

William didn’t move from his position, half standing, half-lounging against the wall, as Bea accepted a bowl of clean water, a cake of soap, and a sharpened blade from Matilda.

“Ready?” Bea asked.

Pero sighed. “Already I know better than to try to resist when you have that light in your eye,  _ Princesa. _ ”

Bea set her hands on her hips. “I made William more handsome. Don’t you think?”

Out of the corner of his gaze, Pero saw William silently preening.  _ Idiota. _

“I think you succeeded only in making it more obvious that he is ugly,” Pero drawled.

Bea turned the blade over in her hands and for a second Pero’s stomach went tight, but then he saw the mischief on her face.

He had faced down certain death several times, and come out with his life. He had fought under the banner of more than a dozen Kings.

He could handle one bored, high-born woman.

“Do your worst,  _ princesa. _ ”

Bea smiled very slowly.

“Let’s see his pretty face, aye?” William asked.

Pero shifted on the chair, torn between anticipation and boredom.

“I doubt this is what your father had in mind,” he groused, “when he recruited us to protect you.”

“Pfft,” Bea scoffed. “He would let me dress you up in my finest church clothes if he thought it would keep me within these walls.”

Matilda started coughing, probably, Pero thought, to disguise a laugh.

“Ready? Bea asked again. She dragged over the chair, sat before Pero. Matilda came closer with the bowl and set it between his legs, hesitantly.

“I will not hurt you,  _ senorita. _ ”

Matilda looked between William and Pero.

William gave a short nod. “You can trust him,” he said gruffly.

Someone else might have missed it, but Pero saw the slight flush to William’s cheeks when he answered the maid. 

_ It’s about time, amigo. _ William hadn’t loved in years.

_ And you, pendejo? _

Pero had not loved in years either.

Not since-

Matilda’s shoulders relaxed.

“Stay still,” Bea murmured.

Pero snorted. “I have been shaved before.”

“Not that anyone would be able to tell,” she snarked back.

Amusement bubbled up in Pero’s chest before he could stop it. “Careful,  _ princesa. _ Anyone would think you are enjoying this.”

Bea set the blade in her lap and wet her hands, then rubbed the soap between her palms until it lathered. “Of course not. Simply marking time until my inevitable marriage to a local lord who will use me as a brood mare.”

She kept her tone light, sarcastic, but against his will, Pero felt sympathy bloom in his heart.

“Get on with it, then,” he snarled, to cover the pinch in his chest.

He should  _ not _ feel sorry for her. She had everything to live for. She would never know what it was like to grow up scratching around for your next meal. To go to sleep with hunger gnawing at your very bones.

And then Bea’s small hands touched his face, lathering his beard, and he forgot about how angry he was at her; at the world, at their differences in class. Forgot about everything but the little furrow between her brows when she sank her fingers into his beard, spreading the soap. Her eyes scanned his face, making sure no part of his jaw went untouched.

It had been  _ years _ since anyone had been this gentle with him. 

For a moment he wished William and Matilda away. Wished that his world would narrow to this bundle of contrasts dressed in the form of a woman, and that he could lean into her touch without anyone seeing. Without having to let his guard down.

But that couldn’t be. So instead he lowered his gaze, avoiding hers.

“There.” Bea washed her hands off and took up the blade. “Now let’s see who you really are under there, Tovar.”

_ Pero, _ he almost said. But they’d never be on such informal terms, so he stayed silent.

He couldn’t afford to get pulled into Bea’s gravity. She had  _ such _ life. Spirit. Heart.

None of those things were for a sellsword. He had rough hands that didn’t belong on her pampered skin, whatever she claimed about not being a princess.

The only sounds in the room for long minutes were the sound of hair falling into the bowl; Bea rinsing the blade; Matilda fetching fresh water.

The blade scraped on his skin and Tovar lifted a hand to still Bea’s wrist.

“Wait.”

She raised a brow.

“I want to keep some.” He drew the finger of his free hand over his lip.

“Fine.”

She went back to work, that adorable little crease appearing again between her brows as she diligently scraped layers of hair away, not once nicking him with the large blade. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Can I cut your hair?”

Tovar hesitated. “You did not cut William’s.”

“I think it would suit you short.”

They gazed at each other for a moment, a wordless battle of wills filling the air.

“As you wish,” Pero murmured.

He could deny her nothing, it seemed.

_ And that does not bode well. _

“There.” A smile played on her lips - she looked very much like the cat who’d achieved a big bowl of cream. “Matilda, the looking glass, if you would.”

The maid took away the washing bowl and went to do Bea’s bidding.

Tovar waited, nervous, but sitting still, reluctant to give his feelings away. He fisted his hands on his thighs.

Bea used a towel to dry his face and then Matilda was there, the sun hitting the looking glass just right so he saw his face in detail.

He looked-

Tired.

He was unused to seeing his own face. A stranger that looked too much like his father stared back at him. When had he gotten so…  _ old? _

The scar across his eyes was a thousand times more prominent.

_ A face no one could love. _

“Tovar?” Bea asked hesitantly.

He shoved up from the seat, disgusted with himself for ever, even in the secret chambers of his own heart, entertaining thoughts of Bea. As if she would be interested in a deflated old sellsword like him.

He turned to look at Bea and the confusion on her face tore at him.

So of course, he decided to make it worse.

“You have had your fun,  _ princesa. _ Allow me to return to my proper duties.”

Bea opened her mouth and closed it again.

William started for him, but Pero pushed the Irishman out of the way and stalked out of the room, pushing the door so hard that it rocked on its hinges.

He didn’t know where he was going; only -

Away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Sir Gareth, and he gets what he deserves.

“Tovar-”

Bea started to go after him but William grasped her arm, gently. When she snapped her head around, surprised at his touch, he let her go. “He needs space, My Lady.”

“What did I do?”

William cleared his throat, shaking his head as if in a bit of a dream. “‘Tis been years, My Lady, since Tovar and I have properly seen ourselves. Tovar’s not seen his unshaved face for some time. His scar takes a bit of getting used to, aye, even for himself.”

“Oh.”  _ Oh. _ Bea sank into the chair.

_ Of course, not everyone has access to a looking glass. _

What had she done? Bea’s hand flew to her mouth to cover a groan. Her mother would be ashamed. She’d behaved like-

Like an entitled, wealthy lady of leisure.

And it made her feel most unwell.

A knock at the door made her jerk up, and William stood to attention.

“Come,” Bea called weakly.

One of her father’s manservants stood in the doorway. “Your Father requests your presence, my Lady. Sir Gareth has arrived for the evening meal.”

_ Bollocks. _ Bea bit back the word that no gently-bred lady should know. “Very well, Maurice - I shall join them shortly.”

After the footman left and the door swung shut, Bea turned to Matilda. “Please, help me with my hair and dress. I cannot go with foam on my skirts!”

William crossed to the door. “I shall be outside, My Lady.”

Once he’d left, Bea chewed on her lip as Matilda loosened, combed and then replaited her hair in a complex style that would likely give her a headache within the hour.

“Please don’t be sad, My Lady.”

Bea twisted her hands in her lap. “I acted like a bored, spoiled child. How I wish to be back home with Mama.”

“I wish that for you, too,” Matilda said softly.

Noises from the floor below kept Bea occupied, thinking of Sir Gareth passing his horse over to the stableboys, removing his armour. Such fancy attire would not be needed simply for a ride from his property to the Wolfe land, but Gareth was preoccupied with appearances.

_ But at least he is not boring. _ He told interesting stories, but as for love-

Matilda squeezed her shoulder. “Perhaps he will fall ill with a stomach ache?”

Bea laughed weakly. “Perhaps.” Then she sobered. “It is his third visit, Matilda. He will want something. I am sure of it.”

She left Matilda to continue her usual household duties and clean up the shaving materials, as she slowly descended the stairs behind William to meet her suitor.

“Daughter,  _ there _ you are,” her Father said, the tone pleasant but the words delivered through badly concealed gritted teeth. “I worried that your maid had forgotten how to plait. Sir Gareth will be joining us for the evening meal.”

Bea curtsied to Sir Gareth. She barely reached his shoulder; he towered above her, bowing slightly in return to her polite curtsey. 

“How do you fare, Lady Beatrix?”

“Well, thankyou, my Lord. How was your journey?”

“It felt long; I was anxious to see you.” He brushed a curl of blond hair from his face. He liked it to lay  _ just so. _ Bea suspected he was much swooned over in court.

He waited a beat for Bea to reply that she, too, had been anticipating his visit.

Her father nudged her.

“Thank you for coming,” she managed. “Perhaps - a turn around the gardens before the meal is served?”

Gareth beamed. “I should like that.”

_ Drat. _ Bea returned his smile as best she could when he offered his arm.

“May I steal your daughter away afore the meal, Lord Wolfe?”

Her father would have allowed her to be tarred and feathered if he thought it might lead to her gaining a respectable husband, Bea thought dourly.

Lord Wolfe waved his hand magnanimously. “But of course.”

Bea turned to the Irishman who was silent as a stone beside her. Well used to being ignored by Knights and their ilk. “William-”

“Will not be needed,” Lord Wolfe interjected. “You are quite safe from any ruffians with Sir Gareth.”

The gardens were a public space. Nowhere for Gareth to attempt to steal a kiss or even speak to her in a low whisper, thankfully.

But as they made their way down the steps to the garden, Sir Gareth leaned down to murmur in Bea’s ear.

“Perhaps My Lady will grace me with a tour of a more…. Private outdoor space.”

“My Lord?” She feigned ignorance.

The knight gestured to the courtyard, just seen from the garden trellises. “I have a sweet tooth for which I find apples do nicely.”

The courtyard was more private. Barely overlooked by the Manor House. “Sir Gareth-”

“Come now, My Lady. Your father would not begrudge us a moment alone, surely? We cannot court if we are constantly chaperoned like children.”

The rays of the sun shone warm down on Bea’s face. She wished she could feel some of their happy brightness. But all she felt was a greasy mix of boredom and dread.

She’d managed to avoid being alone with any suitors thus far.

It seemed her luck had run out.

Gareth steered her towards the courtyard. Had it only been two hours earlier that she’d sought Tovar out here, asked to shave his jaw?

His face after seeing his own reflection leapt to the forefront of her mind. She idly wondered if he’d ever tease her again as he had when she’d groomed him. 

_ “Already I know better than to try to resist when you have that light in your eye, Princesa.” _

She gazed ahead at the trees, heavy with apples. If she had to defend herself, one of the branches pulled back a little might be enough to knock a Knight to the ground. Perhaps? She’d rather not have to try it.

He was tall, so although she was an adept climber, in a dress, she’d have to go fast to escape him.

_ Be calm. Perhaps talking is all he wants. _

She could hope.

“Lady Bea. I have longed to be alone with you,” Gareth simpered as the courtyard closed in around them. 

Bea’s stomach contracted. “I am.. Flattered, my Lord,” she said automatically.

“You must know what a prize you are.”

His words didn’t help her nausea. “My Lord?”

Gareth turned towards her, keeping her hand tucked into his arm. He started to back her into a large apple tree. Bea felt the brush of a low branch against her shoulder.

“Come now,  _ My Lady.  _ You have led me quite a merry dance. You know it and your father knows it. I have allowed it, but you must know I am in demand at court.”

Bea bided her time, wary of struggling until she needed to. “I have never been to court, My Lord.”

“Well, that will change when you are my wife, Lady Wolfe.”

Dread skittered down her spine. “I have not consented-”

“Allow me to show you what pleasure I can give you.” He bent his head. Bea supposed she should have been thrilled that a Knight of the realm wished to kiss her -  _ marry her! - _ but when she thought about her first real kiss, the face she saw was-

_ Tovar. _

He would be experienced. His newly shaved cheeks warm and just a little scratchy under her palms. His eyes soft, dark, as they had been when he’d watched her with Agnes.

Gareth’s face came closer.

“My Lord, please wait-”

“ _ Enough _ teasing, my little dove.” His voice dropped into what Bea thought he was imagined was a seductive tone, but just made her skin crawl. She shrank back, but his mouth came down hard on hers, his tongue trying to part her lips-

And she acted on instinct, as she had before in her old life in the country with Mama, and she jerked her knee up between his legs.

The lack of a codpiece meant he toppled like a tree.

Bea stood against the tree, half horrified, half proud of herself.

“ _ Princesa. _ ”

She spun around to find Tovar panting beside her. His hair was dishevelled, slivers of grass and fallen leaves climbing his boots. 

He must have run full pelt; and the thought of his concern warmed her from the inside out.

“Hello,” she said with a shrug. “I did not want him to kiss me.”

“I can see that,” Tovar replied, a brow arched, and an impressed smile played on his lips. “ _ Batallador. _ ”

Before she could ask what that word meant - or enjoy how beautiful the foreign words sounded in his accent, like the most sensual music - Gareth recovered. 

“Your father will hear of this insolence. As will the court. You,  _ Beatrix, _ are no Lady. You should have stayed in the country like the mannerless peasant you are!”

In a blur of movement, Tovar stood over the Knight, hefted him by the fancy collar of his burgundy linen tunic.

“She is a  _ Lady _ and you shall address her as such.  _ Capullo. _ ”

Gareth visibly paled.

“Apologise,” Tovar continued, his voice low, feral. “Now.”

“Call off your attack dog,” Gareth whined. His tone was that of an order, but the stutter of his words undermined his false courage.

“Dog? He’s ten times the man you are,  _ Sir  _ Knight.”

Tovar glanced at Bea over his shoulder. His gaze blazed with anger.

Bea nodded. “Release him; he is not worth your exertion.”

Gareth scoffed in disbelief, but a growl low in Tovar’s throat made him scramble, without any dignity at all, to his feet, and storm off.

Tovar stood in what Bea thought of as  _ attack stance _ until the Knight was out of earshot. Then his shoulders relaxed. He bit off something in his mother tongue that Bea didn’t understand, and then he turned to Bea.

“Tovar-”

“Never have I seen a gently bred woman attack so fiercely. You were magnificent, no?”

She stared at him for a moment. “You aren’t… I mean…. I should not have done that.”

The Spaniard fisted his hands, set him on his hips, and tilted his head a little. “You regret it?”

“No! No, of course not. I didn’t want.. His tongue in my mouth.”

“Understandable.”

Bea met Tovar’s gaze for a second, and the disgust she saw in the line of his mouth made laughter bubble up in her throat. She pressed her lips together, tried with all her might to contain it.

She failed.

He chuckled.

And then they were both laughing, bent double, amid gasps of “Did you see his face?” and “I didn’t know men toppled like trees” and “he made a noise like a squeaking mouse.”

Tovar’s smile lit up his whole face. Took  _ years _ off him. 

He was  _ incredibly _ handsome.

He stole her breath more than their laughter did.

By the time their amusement faded, Bea looked up to see her father heading in their direction. Wearing an expression like a thundercloud.

“I’m in trouble,” she whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bea and her father talk, and Bea corners Tovar to ask a question.

Bea pressed her lips together as her father approached, a storm brewing in the set of his face.

Pero moved to stand half in front of her.

“Tovar. You don’t need to-”

“This should  _ not _ be a fight you need to have,” the mercenary muttered under his breath.

“Stand aside,” Lord Wolfe commanded.

Silence rang out for a second.

“Respectfully, I will not,” Tovar ground out.

The two men faced each other, neither giving a quarter, neither moving.

Bea sighed. “Lord’s sake! Tovar, he won’t hurt me.”

Lord Wolfe’s face fell. “What did you say?”

Bea moved out from behind Tovar’s broad form. “He thinks you’ve come to rebuke me. For what I did to Sir Gareth.”

Her father folded Bea into his embrace, and shook his head. “I saw it all. My only regret is that I did not move faster. I would have given that ne’er do well a piece of my mind - using my fist.”

Bea snuggled into her father’s chest. For all his faults, he did love her, and she knew it.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She turned to see the line of Tovar’s shoulders relax as he realised she wouldn’t be harmed. His face settled into its usual lines of distrust, and she thought for a second:  _ I would love to see him smile again. Hear his laugh. _

Lord Wolfe let Bea go and faced Tovar. “I thank you. For doing what I was not here to do. Hands like his should not touch my daughter.”

Bea didn’t see Tovar’s face as he replied; “That is what you pay me for,  _ no? _ ”

His tone was missing something - flat. Deflated.

“I beg your leave, my Lord,” the Spaniard added, and Lord Wolfe nodded.

Bea’s heart bumped, stomach swimming with nerver as he stalked away, without looking back.

What had happened? 

They had just been laughing-

“Daughter?” Lord Wolfe asked. He tilted her chin up. “You are unharmed?”

“Yes.”

He kissed her forehead. “I am sorry for this disappointing setback. Of course I wish you married, but I would never,  _ ever _ wish you harm. Or have you yoked to a cur such as that.”

Bea gazed at the retreating back of the Spaniard. 

Her father had no idea why disappointment sank like a stone in her belly.

“Bea? Are you recovered?”

“Yes,” Bea murmured, but she thought it sounded like a lie.

*****

Pero stared at his hands in the wash basin of the servants’ quarters.

_ Hands like his should not touch my daughter. _

He knew Wolfe had been talking about Sir Gareth’s hands, but-

Pero clenched his own fingers into fists. His skin was scarred, palms sword-callused. His touch would be rough.

For a moment there, under the shade of the tree, Bea had looked up at him, her eyes dancing with laughter, her gaze soft and warm, and he’d thought, maybe-

_ Idiota. _

As if Wolfe would  _ ever  _ let his daughter dally with a sellsword.

He was kidding himself. The only comfort he was likely to see in the near future was fucking his own hand.

Even that held little appeal.

When he closed his eyes, all he could think of was cupping the apple of Bea’s cheek. Imagining her eyes drifting shut as he kissed her sweet lips. How the curves of her soft body would feel underneath him.

_ Mierda! _

He was so far below her, he might as well be six feet underground for all the good reaching for her would do.

The door clattered and Pero looked over his shoulder to see William striding in, rubbing his freshly shaven jaw.

“You all right?” he asked genially. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Such a superstitious bastard,” Pero muttered, but even he heard that his words had no bite.

“Something taken the wind from your sails?” William wanted to know.

Pero looked down at his hands, then pulled the wooden plug from the basin and stood. “Nothing you need concern yourself over,  _ amigo. _ ”

He pushed past and shouldered the door open, welcoming the dull thud of pain from the heavy wood. Pain was his life - receiving it and dealing it out.

He did not belong near Bea.

*****

Bea lay awake half the night thinking of the rigid line of Tovar’s back when he’d walked away from her and her father.

William had stayed with her the remainder of the day. He was sweet and friendly, amiable and chatty, but she had never once felt the  _ spark _ of… yearning the way she did when the Spaniard came near.

At the crack of dawn she tossed back her heavy bedclothes and got dressed without waking Matilda, and crept down to the servants’ quarters. Noise could be heard through the door, the general hustle and bustle of everyday life, the clatter of dishes being prepared.

Bea pushed her way in. The cook’s mouth fell open. “My lady-”

“Please, be at ease,” Bea encouraged the older woman. “Are they here? The soldiers?”

A door at the back of the kitchen opened, and William and Tovar came through, faces damp, clearly just washed and dressed. Tovar’s gaze flicked to Bea immediately, and she thought she saw emotion pass over his handsome face - unreadable - before his features settled into a scowl.

“Tovar,” she called out, in her most commanding voice. “I wish to go riding and you are to accompany me.”

“As you wish,” he agreed, his voice deep, raspy from sleep. Bea felt the tone of it under her skin, shivered a little, but not from cold.

The Cook shoved a parcel of beeswaxed paper at Tovar’s chest. “Take this with you, for Lord’s sake; if the man of the house finds out I sent her without food, it’ll be my neck.”

Tovar took the parcel and nodded his thanks to Cook, then lifted his gaze to Bea. “To the stables, then.”

Bea turned, cloak floating behind her. Tovar’s footfalls were soft behind her. When they reached the stables, the sun beginning to rise, casting its gently golden light over the dewy grass, Bea said, “I need to know.”

Tovar turned to face her. He looked weary. “What is it you wish to know, my Lady?”

“Have I hurt you in some way?”

His brows winged up, his eyes going big for a scant moment. “My Lady..?”

She searched his face. He looked almost naked without the beard; his expressions were no easier to read, though. The line of his jaw ticked when he was thinking; that much she knew, and it seemed a big thing, although it was but a tiny chink in his layers of armour.

“I have upset you.”

Tovar shook his head, a muscle in his cheek clenching. “No.”

“I  _ know  _ I have. Yesterday you walked off without a word, when just a moment earlier we were laughing-”

“Leave it,  _ princesa.” _

Bea narrowed her eyes. “I shall not. Tovar, it was not my intention to hurt you.”

He muttered something in Spanish and closed his eyes briefly, hands set on his hips. “Why are you like this?” he bit off. “Why can’t you be haughty and waspish, as a woman in your position should be? Why are you so - why are you so kind?”

Her heart broke a little then, because she thought he must not have known much kindness. 

“Because this world needs it,” she whispered. “Because you need it.”

“God help me,” Tovar whispered back, and, meeting her gaze and holding it, he set his hands on her hips and rested his forehead against hers, his eyes slowly closing.

After a moment Bea lifted her hand to his cheek, smoothing her thumb over the corner of his mouth, the edge of his mustache tickling her skin.

They stood that way for a long time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bea and Tovar go riding (not like that - yet) and shelter from the rain

They rode for some time. Bea stared straight ahead, afraid to look over at Tovar in case her emotions would come to the fore.

_ Although it’s too late for that, is it not? _

The bristly hair on his top lip had tickled the sensitive skin of her thumb. She’d wanted to dip her digit lower, to caress his lip.. Feel the warmth of his tongue.

Bea was no innocent - well, physically yes, but the washerwomen in her country home often talked of tupping and rolls in the hay, and, growing up among farm animals, Bea knew how coupling worked.

What she didn’t know was.. If it could be enjoyed.

The cows always seemed so bored - or alarmed. But mostly, they continued chewing the cud while the bulls.. Did their business.

Was it like that for humans?

Surely not.

She could not believe that, having felt delicious shivers  _ everywhere _ just from touching Tovar’s mouth.

“Where do you wish to ride to,  _ princesa? _ ” Tovar asked.

Bea drew her horse level with his. The mare had a strong head for speed but a genial temperament. “Far away.” She settled her eyes on the horizon. “I wish I could ride across the water and away from…. This.”

Tovar scoffed. “Away from your fine life of soft beds and plentiful food.”

Bea closed her eyes.  _ We always seem to be at odds. _ “That’s not what I meant.”

“I  _ know _ what you meant. And perhaps you should be grateful for-”

“ _ Grateful? _ To be married off to someone my father chooses? Someone I might despise for the rest of my days? Someone I will have to take to my bed?”

Tovar looked away, snapped the reins of his horse, taking the stallion into a canter and effectively ending the conversation.

Bea shook her head and followed him. Where had the softness they’d shared gone?

They let the horses have their heads for some time. Bea  _ adored _ riding. It was like flying when Bramble cantered at pace, her hooves eating up ground faster than Bea had seen any man run. The pound of the horse on the grass, the wind making Bramble’s mane and Bea’s hair fly around her face.

Tovar stopped his horse by a copse of trees just as it began to rain. “We should turn back.”

“It’s just a bit of rain.”

“ _ Si, _ and if you catch a cold then your father will string me up by my balls,” he muttered, biting the words off, angry.

He looked up at the spiderweb pattern made by the thick branches of the oak trees in this copse.

The rain became heavier. Bea moved Bramble under the branches - they gave shelter, but the rain that had run down the back of her neck made her shiver.

“See? You are shivering,” Tovar snapped.

“It’s nothing. In the country with Mama, I used to stay out all-”

“But you are under  _ my _ watch here,” he ground out, his eyes on fire, and seeing him so worked up did something to Bea’s insides - her stomach flipped, but not with nausea. Or fear.

With… something else.

“You aren’t my keeper,” she snapped back, annoyed at herself for feeling… this.

“ _ Si, _ Princesa, right now, I am,” Tovar bit off. “Come here, foolish girl, before you catch your death.”

Bea squared her shoulders. “Or you’ll do what?”

“Or I will grab you off the horse and bind your wrists!” He half-shouted, the pounding rain drowning out most of his words.

Rolling her eyes, Bea dismounted and tied Bramble to the nearest oak tree, registering Tovar doing the same to his stallion, who pawed the ground, snorting.

The Spaniard smoothed his hand down the horse’ snout, whispering something lost in the sound of the rain.

Bea moved under the cover of the biggest tree. The branches stopped most of the rain, but she’d been hasty in her desire to speak with Tovar, and had forgotten to grab her riding habit.

She was paying handsomely for it now.

Tovar bit off something under his breath and started to take off his thick cloak. “Come here,  _ princesa. _ ”

She hesitated.

His gaze darkened. “You surely do not think I will hurt you? I swear upon my sword that you will remain unharmed.”

Bea’s heart bumped. “No. I’m not afraid of you.”

Suspicion sketched its way across his stormy features. “Then what?”

Her feet felt rooted to the ground, her skin hot. “I’m afraid of what you make me feel.”

They gazed at each other for a long moment.

Then the wind picked up, lashing out the rain at Bea’s face, and she cried out in surprise at the cold.

Tovar reached out and grabbed her, pulling her into him and wrapping the big, soft cloak around them both.

Under the animal skin cloak and with the branch cover, the rain hardly reached them.

Almost unconsciously, Bea snuggled into the warm, broad Spaniard.

He rested his chin on the top of her head.

It felt….

Like home.

Bea spread her palm over Tovar’s chest, telling herself she wanted to warm her hands up.

He was firm under her touch. She dared not look up into his face; half-afraid of what she might see here.

His arms stayed tight around her under the cloak. Occasionally she felt his jaw move against her forehead, but he said nothing.

“Thankyou,” she whispered.

“ _ De nada.” _

“You could have let me catch a cold. I deserved it. I was a brat.”

She felt him smile.

“And kiss this easy coin goodbye? I think not,  _ bonita.” _

“What does that mean?”

Bea felt rather than saw him hesitate. “In English it means… pretty.”

A flush crept up her neck. Bea hid her face in his chest, even though he could not possibly see her from that angle. “Oh.”

“Tovar?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you come to this country? Have you been here long?”

“ _ Princesa, _ that is quite the tale. I-” He dropped the cloak immediately, and Bea missed the warmth. She turned, the sound Tovar had heard reaching her ears.

Three men on horseback thundered towards them, wearing the livery of the house Wolfe.

Her father had sent his men out to make sure she was safe in the storm. The thought both warmed and annoyed her. Tovar had stepped back - infinitesimally, but the warmth of his body no longer reached her.

But-

_ He called me pretty. _

  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bea gets a chill.

Bea started to shiver on the way home. Matilda fussed over her as soon as she entered the manor house.

“I’ve had the boys bring water for a hot bath.”

Bea nodded, tired.

_ Maybe I have got a cold. _

Tovar was called into her father’s private chambers - probably for a scolding. Bea wanted to protest but her limbs felt  _ so _ heavy.

She let herself be led, like an obedient child, up the stone steps by Matilda.

The water steamed from the huge wooden tub. Bea peered inside, watching sprigs of lavender, sage and thyme floating on the surface.

“Come on, let’s get this wet gown off you.”

Usually, Bea didn’t need help to get undressed, but she shivered as Matilda did the chore for her, and then let herself be helped into the deep water.

The shivers stopped, but then started again in earnest.

“Oh, dear,” Matilda crooned. She squeezed out a soft cloth and started to soap Bea. “Just relax, My Lady.”

Bea closed her eyes and let herself drift.

When she came to, Matilda was patting her cheek. “Time to get into bed. I’ve had cook make you some broth.”

“I must truly be ill,” Bea deadpanned, but her voice came out whispery, “if I am to have broth.”

Matilda chuckled and dried Bea off, then dressed her in a night rail and bid her slip between the thick covers on her bed.

Servants from downstairs emptied the bath with pails, tossing the water from the window, and then carried the empty vessel away.

“Matilda,” Bea croaked.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“I do not want father to be angry with Tovar. It was I who insisted we go riding.”

Matilda smiled softly. “You couldn’t have known it would rain.”

A knock sounded at the door, and then Frederick, the cook’s boy, came in with a tray bearing a bowl of broth and a hunk of brown bread, still warm. He hadn’t yet grown into his ears or the stubborn jut of his chin.

Matilda took it from him and ruffled his hair. He stuck his bottom lip out. “I’m grown, Mattie.”

“You’re two and ten. Not grown  _ yet _ .”

A blush crept up his neck and he made a quick exit.

Bea tried to smile but another shiver shook her body.

Matilda sat on the edge of the large bed. “Time for broth.”

It was thick, almost too hot, and deeply savoury. Bea let Matilda feed her a dozen mouthfuls before her eyes grew too heavy.

“Matilda. Can you make sure Tovar gets broth? He may also have a cold.”

“Begging your pardon, My Lady, but that man is built like a castle keep.”

“Even so.”

“Very well. A little more.”

Bea swallowed three more spoons before exhaustion stole over her, turning her limbs to lead. She gently pushed the spoon away.

“I will leave it on the floor, if you wake and want more.” Matilda set the tray down and gently smoothed down the coverlet over Bea.

The last thing Bea registered was Matilda leaving the room quietly, and her final thought, before slumber claimed her, was whether Tovar would get any broth.

*******

Pero sat in the servants’ quarters, wallowing in his own misery. Bea had been whisked away as soon as the party had arrived back at the imposing manor house.

Lord Wolfe had some choice words for him - Pero didn’t blame the man. He was supposed to protect her. Yes, going riding was hardly a dangerous activity for an accomplished horsewoman like Bea, but he shouldn’t have let her lead him so far.

The cook, a tall, broad woman with a no nonsense face, placed a bowl of steaming broth in front of him.

“For me?” He asked, perplexed. “The evening meal will not be served until later, no?”

The cook grunted. “Lady Wolfe’s orders. You’re to have broth.”

_ Lady Wolfe’s orders. _ Something inside Pero warmed, touched a place that had lain dormant for a very long time.

“Is she… well?” he asked, hearing the catch in his own voice.

“I’m not privy to details,” the cook answered, briskly, but Pero thought he detected the faintest hint of softening in her tone.

William pushed into the servants’ quarters. “Aye, and where’s my broth?”

The cook rolled her eyes and tapped her rolling pin into one big palm. “Come and get it, boy.”

William laughed, and for a second, Pero envied the easy way the Irishman seemed to have with everyone. Pero, on the other hand, had never let his guard down long enough to kindle such a friendship. Not since-

William sat opposite him, having procured some broth despite the cook’s glower. He spooned some up.

“Are you well?”

Pero grunted.

“I heard Lady Wolfe has taken to bed with a chill.”

Worry sank in Pero’s gut like a stone. “ _ Si. _ ”

“You couldn’t have known. A little rain never hurt anyone. Sure and she’ll be back to her old self tomorrow.”

“Lord Wolfe will never let me guard her again,” Pero muttered, his gaze in his broth. He broke off some bread and dunked it in the thick liquid. “And I would not blame him.”

William arched a brow. “Did he say as much?”

“No, but he was not happy,  _ si? _ ”

William lazily drew his own bread through the broth. The scents of thyme and chicken floated up into the air between them, the steam thick, fragrant.

“You could always sneak in.”

Pero snorted. “You think so? I am not twenty-five anymore,  _ amigo. _ And what makes your fool Irish head think she would welcome a visit from me?”

William shook his head. “And sometimes I think you’re the smart one.” He picked up his bowl and bread, stood, and clapped Pero on the shoulder. “She’ll be all right. Never seen a highborn lady with as much spirit as Lady Wolfe.”

Pero grunted in lieu of a reply, staring into his both as his friend departed.

Behind him, cook continued to roll pastry for tonight’s dinner, muttering something under her breath. Pero didn’t bother to try and figure it out. He had plenty to think about.

For the first time in  _ years, _ he reached under the neck of his tunic and fingered the simple bronze cross hanging on a leather thong.

_ Please God, keep Bea safe. _

It was the first time in his memory that he’d prayed.

********

The moon was high in the sky when a tap, tap, tap woke Pero from a listless doze. He sat up on his uncomfortable cot, listening.

_ Tap, tap, tap. _

He crossed to the door. William and the two servant boys sharing the space slept on. William muttered something in his sleep but did not wake.

Pero shoved his feet into his boots and opened the door a crack.

Bea’s maid stood there, a candle in her hand, the light flickering over her young features.

“ _ Si? _ ” he asked, hearing the rasp of sleep in his voice.

“Please will you come?” Matilda asked, the pinch of worry creasing her features. “My mistress is upset in her sleep and asking for you.”

Pero could not have been more surprised if the maid had taken a knife from the folds of her dress and gutted him right there, half dressed, in the moonlight.

“You are sure?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

If he had not been rocked by the fact Bea was asking for him, Pero would have scoffed at the words  _ my Lord.  _ He had never been anyone’s Lord, but that hardly mattered now.

He doubled back to his cot and grabbed a knife, just in case, shielding it in his boot.

He returned to Matilda and closed the door quietly, buttoning his tunic as he walked.

“Take me to her.”

The maid led him up the stone spiral stairs. The light from her candle flickered and waned, but Pero had covered difficult terrain with less visibility than this.

He crept behind Matilda, careful not to tread on her trailing skirts.

“Here,” she whispered, and grasped the metal ring of an elegantly engraved door.

Moonlight flooded in through the open shutters, and Pero’s gaze darted around, landing on the figure in the large bed to the left side of the room.

“ _ Gracias,” _ he murmured lowly to Matilda, and strode into the room, kneeling at Bea’s bedside.

He was likely breaking household rules as well as the moral code a higher-born man would have, but he did not care.

He took Bea’s limp hand between his.

“ _ Princesa. _ ”

She tossed her head in her sleep. The moon illuminated her pale face; her damp hair clinging to her forehead.

“ _ Bonita? _ ”

He leaned forward and she stirred, her eyes opening a crack.

“Tovar? You came?”

“I did.” He brought her hand to his lips. It almost hurt physically, seeing her like this - he had never seen her thus. Never seen anything but strength and sass and willfulness.  _ This _ was not his Bea.

Her fingers tightened on his. “Please stay.”

_ “Por supuesto… _ Of course.”

Her eyes closed slowly, but her fingers remained tight on his. 

“Would you…. Hold me?”

Pero’s heart twisted. Her skin was clammy under his.

He glanced back at Matilda. She sat against the door, the candle at her feet, wringing her hands. She nodded, her lips firming, determined.

“If that is your wish,  _ gatito. _ ”

Bea pulled weakly at his hands, and Pero needed no further urging. He shucked off his boots and climbed into bed, settling behind her, pulling her into his warmth. Her body felt so small against his, and her dress was damp with sweat. She trembled as he wrapped his arms around her, nestling his face against the back of her neck, breathing in her scent, lavender and citrus.

“Sleep,  _ preciosa. _ ”

“Feel... safe with you,” she murmured, her voice thready.

Pero’s pulse rabbited. 

How long had it been since someone had trusted him so?

A very long time.

“I would lay down my life before I let harm come to you,” he whispered, but her breathing had already evened out into sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bea and Tovar get closer, walls start to come down.

Bea woke in stages. Her mouth tasted like old, dry bread. Her eyes were slow to open; sticky, unfocused.

But her body felt - warm. Safe.

When she finally managed to lift her eyelids, she saw the dark shape of another person in her bed. A scream stormed up her throat until she remembered, with sudden clarity, the previous night.

_ Tovar. _

The chill from the storm.

Her nightmare about him being banished from the Manor.

Her plea to Matilda.

As she shifted position, her shoulder sore, Pero did too, grumbling in his sleep, something in Spanish perhaps, and then her name.

_ Bea. _

Hearing it in his voice, rather than  _ princesa, _ or another noun he’d assigned to her, made her heart bump.

The little bit of light eeking through her bedchamber shutters allowed her to see the lines of Pero’s handsome face, relaxed in slumber. He looked younger, untroubled, thick lashes resting against his high cheekbones; the little angel’s kiss crease in his lower lip tempting her to touch.

In the confines of this bed, they were just two people, without the huge gulf between them that didn’t seem to be lessening despite the passing of days.

Bea slid a curious hand up his chest. The wall of muscle felt sturdy, secure, under the very well worn fabric of his dark grey tunic. 

“Playing with fire,  _ princesa? _ ”

He spoke softly, his voice a soft burr in the quiet of the unlit room. Bea started nonetheless, her face flaming.

“Thank you,” she managed. “For being with me.”

“A man would be a fool to be anywhere else,  _ no? _ ”

His arm lay heavy on her hip, and Bea was reluctant to move away, to break the spell.

As long as she didn’t raise her voice above a whisper and as long as Pero didn’t open his eyes, they could stay in this little world.

“Sometimes,” she murmured, her gaze settling on his mouth, “I think about what it would be like if you kissed me.”

Pero went still. He didn’t open his eyes, but she saw his shoulders tense. His arm on her hip went utterly rigid.

“It will be difficult for me to kiss you when your father separates my fool head from my shoulders, mmmm?”

She heard the thread of mischief in his voice, though - just a lick of it, and she hoped beyond hope that he felt safe here, too, untouched by the cruel, unjust world they lived in.

“Perhaps if  _ I _ kiss you-”

“ _ Bonita.” _ Now that beautiful husky drawl held the faintest glimmer of warning.

Bea’s fingers danced up to Pero’s neck, nails ghosting over his Adam’s apple, prickly with thick, dark stubble. Her pulse rabbited. He was  _ so _ near.

“I am serious,  _ princesa. _ I should not be here.”

But he made no move to sit up.

Birds called out the coming dawn beyond the walls. 

“I want to shut them out,” she whispered into Pero’s tunic. “Please, let me stay here with you, let everyone else fall away.”

At last, Pero opened his eyes. Brown-gold, he gazed at her, his expression torn between wretched need and sadness.

“You do not know what you ask, Bea.”

Bea slid her hand up further, cupped his cheek, smoothing her thumb over the bottom end of his scar.

“But you wish to?”

Pero huffed out a breath, his gaze flicked behind her to the door. “ _ Princesa. _ You know not of what you speak. You are so young-”

“I’m of age, Tovar.” She cleared her throat, lent up on her free arm. “I’m a woman.”

He bit off a chuckle. “I am  _ painfully  _ aware.”

The heady scent of power twisted in Bea’s lower belly. “You are?”

“Coyness does not suit you,  _ no? _ ” he teased, his thumb rubbing small circles on her hip through the thick woven blanket. “A warrior in the skin of a girl.”

“Is that how you see me?”

“Those who do not see you as such are blind,” he scoffed, but the words were tempered by the smile crooking up the corner of his mouth.

“ _ Tovar,” _ Bea whispered, shuffling closer on the bed, closing the gap between their bodies. Her curious fingers danced up to his hairline, gently stroking the thick, soft strands.

“Pero.”

“Hmmm?”

“Pero. My given name. Tovar is my family name,  _ si? _ ”

“Pero,” Bea whispered, feeling like she’d been given a gift long hidden from the sun, that others would envy and covet. She would keep it safe, treat it as gently as she would a butterfly’s delicate wings.

He let out a little sigh, and then, without warning, tugged her close, his arms folding around her.

Bea heard her own little squeak of surprise, but he was warm and firm and oh  _ so  _ welcome, and she burrowed into him, pressing her face into his neck, breathing in his scent of leather and plain soap and lemon oil.

“The world is cold and cruel,  _ cielo, _ ” Pero murmured against her hair. “And I am a greedy man. If it were up to me, I would lift you up on my horse and carry you away, steal you from everyone and everything, show you pleasure untold, and protect you with my last breath.”

His words were so soft, a barely there caress against her hair. Bea replayed them in her mind, her heart pounding.

When he didn’t add anything, she pulled back slightly, met his gaze, and, very gently, pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He closed his eyes, and she did it again. His mustache tickled the delicate skin of her lips. He uttered something that sounded like a curse word, but he held perfectly still.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Bea whispered. “I’m the one breaking all the rules.”

He groaned, but otherwise made no move to stop her. His arms tightened around her waist.

Bea took that as assent. Here, cocooned in her bed, the dawn not quite broken, they were alone, and the day had not yet started. Time seemed frozen, the rays of the sun halted in place, just for them.

She kissed the other corner of his mouth, then kissed his cupid’s bow.

“This is my first kiss,” she whispered against his lips.

“ _ Mierda. _ ”

Bea had but a heartbeat to wonder what the Spanish meant when Pero suddenly rolled their bodies so he pressed her into the bed, and captured her mouth with his. Bea gasped in surprise, her lips parting under Pero’s on instinct.

He kissed her like a man starved, gentle-rough, pinning her into the bed, his tongue exploring hers in an age-old dance that had Bea’s lower belly growing hot and heavy.

She speared her hands into his thick, soft dark hair, holding him close. The line of him pressed against her hip, and she’d never felt a man’s desire before. The thrill of it flared in her veins.

“ _ Pero. _ ”

He bit off a moan against her lips, pressed his hips into her. “ _ Te necesito. _ ”

His rough voice sent shivers through her and she answered the pressure of his hips with a similar dance of her own. “Please,” she murmured, not knowing what she was asking for, but wanting  _ more. _

Pero pulled back and rested his forehead on hers, a shuddering breath escaping him. “God would strike me down for ruining you for marriage,  _ princesa. _ I will not.”

Bea stroked the hair at the base of his neck. She thought about what she’d overheard from the kitchen maids. From the laundry women. And she felt bold, here, in their private daydream.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut smut!

“Are there no - other ways? Do you have to… put it inside me?”

Pero huffed out a strangled laugh. “You have surely been made to tempt me,  _ no? _ Oh  _ cielo. _ You could stir desire in a eunuch.”

She smiled shyly. “Which you are definitely not.”

He shook his head, enthralled with her. “Just the thought makes my blood run cold.”

He peeked over the top of her head. The room was empty. Thank God. Bea’s maid - Matilda? - had left to sleep or pursue other duties.

The fact he had not thought about whether the other woman was present spoke of just how far down the rabbit hole he had gone for this slip of a girl; how many years yawned between them?

But then, when she stretched up her pale neck and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, he found he couldn’t care how old his bones were.

They kissed lazily for a time, Pero losing himself in the softness of her lips, the little sighs she gave him when he threaded his fingers through her hair, the way she whispered his name, like a secret she’d guard jealously.

For her part, Bea gave her all, pushing her hips into his, holding him tight, the way he’d yearned to be held for  _ years, _ like something precious, something worthy.

She didn’t see the blood on his hands; the lines on his face; the black marks on his soul that one day, he would pay dearly for.

Was it wrong that he wanted that absolution with her? Just for now, so he could take out this memory when he was old and sigh over it? Live inside the daydream of this headstrong young woman who wanted him. He could be the man she somehow thought he was, just for a few moments.

Bea’s talented hands wandered down to his belly, and he jerked back, staying her, fingers around her wrists.

“Wait, hmmm,  _ gatito?” _

Although it almost hurt physically to leave her, Pero rolled to a sitting position and then crossed the room. He grabbed a chair and pushed it against the door, then cast around for something until his gaze lit on a chest of clothes. He set that on the seat of the chair.

“We will have warning, should someone come.”

Bea leaned up on one elbow, fingers of her free hand playing in the laces of her nightrail. Her nipples were hard little points behind the pale, thin fabric.

Pero swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth.

“Are you coming back to bed?”

He did so, slowly, his gaze never leaving her. “A seductress in the skin of an innocent, no?”

When he reached the bed, Bea grasped at his tunic, tugging him down. He went oh, so willingly, rolling her under him, capturing her mouth again in a slow, loving kiss. Heady on the taste of her, he let himself drown in her soft lips. When he broke the kiss to touch his lips to her cheek, the curve of her neck, her hair was spread out like threads of gold on the snow-white pillow. He felt like a peasant worshipping at the altar of a queen.

She pushed her hips into his. “Pero. Please, touch me.”

If he touched any more of her skin he was going to explode. He pressed a kiss to the stubborn tilt of her chin. “You are sure?”

“Have you ever known me  _ not _ to be set in my mind?”

He let out a strangled laugh. “A fair point.” With hands that wanted to tremble, he leant up on his elbows and slipped the first button of her nightrail loose. She watched him the whole time, with heavy-lidded eyes, her calves wrapped around his, anchoring him. As if there were anywhere else he would want to be. Ever.

Her skin was perfect. Unblemished, a tiny constellation of freckles under her collarbone, above her right breast. He kissed the cartography of the marks, and she sighed.

“Is it wrong to say I’ve thought about your lips, everywhere?”

His cock flexed, hard at her words, and he had to breathe deeply to keep it from being all over right then. “Is it wrong to say I have indulged the same wicked daydreams?”

Bea arched into him as he pressed a kiss to her breast, through the white fabric. “Please.”

He worked his way through the tiny buttons, uncovering her one painstaking centimetre at a time. Finally,  _ finally, _ he parted the edges of the oversized nightgown to reveal the slopes of her breasts, small and perfectly formed, the nipples begging to be kissed.

And so he did kiss them.

Bea clutched at his hair when he brushed his lips over one nipple and then the other, exploring every inch of her with his tongue, gently pulling on her sensitive flesh until she was bucking her hips up into him, spreading her legs so his cock settled naturally at the apex of her body.

“ _ Pero. _ ”

He pressed his forehead to her breast. “ _ Cielo. _ You will be the end of me.”

She opened her eyes. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing.  _ Absolutely _ nothing.  _ Mierda, _ you are too perfect.” He reached down between their bodies to loosen his breeches, giving his aching erection some relief. 

Bea whimpered when the blunt head of him pressed between her legs, and Pero’s eyes almost rolled back in his head. He could feel her wetness through the thin nightgown and what little underwear she wore. He made himself breathe slowly.

“Then-”

He leant up to kiss her soundly, the taste of her quickly becoming a boundless addiction. “It will be my head if I ruin you,  _ gatito. _ You have your whole life ahead of you. A - A husband, children at your skirts. You must teach them to be warriors like you, no?”

Bea swallowed, her hands stilling on his shoulders. “They can’t be  _ our _ children?”

A spear of pain arrowed through Pero and he dropped his forehead to hers. “Bea-”

“You don’t need to treat me like a child,” she protested.

“Believe me,” he rasped, “I am  _ not. _ ”

She softened. “Would it be so bad? Us?”

“No. It would not.” He held her like that, their faces intimately close, for a time, until she arched her hips into him again, and were it not for her clothing, he would surely have been inside her.

He stroked her hair away from her face. “Let me give you pleasure,  _ princesa.” _

“Please.”

He could do this for her. He could give her pleasure unlike any she’d ever witnessed, and then he could stride off to the stables and take care of his own needs away from her soft, clean bed and unspoiled, pure, soft skin.

He worked his way down her body, grasping for the ends of her nightgown and pushing the fabric up her legs, kissing a path back up her ankles, calves, knees and thighs. She wore plain white underwear with a serviceable slit in the middle, and he parted the fabric, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself rushing.

Glancing up, he saw her sink her teeth into her lower lip, hands clenched above her head in the fabric of her pillow.

He pressed a gentle kiss to her silky pink folds, and then parted them, revealing his goal.

“I need you to be quiet,  _ gatito. _ Can you do this?”

He watched her throat move as she swallowed, and nodded.

He took his time learning what she liked, circling her clitoris with his tongue, sliding one finger, and then two, inside her, giving her time to adjust to the invasion. Her thighs began to tremble when he upped the press on the apex of her pleasure, and he kept up the gentle assault, ignoring the pounding ache between his own legs.

“ _ Pero, _ ” she gasped, and arched into his face. Pero doubled his efforts until her climax washed over her, and one of her hands came down to clench in his hair, holding him in place.

He worked her through it with two fingers and his lips and tongue, glorying in the way she had come apart for him; the first man she’d let near her in such a manner. And she had chosen him - a jaded old sellsword.

The thought made him unreasonably happy.

“Pero.”

He dropped one last kiss on the inside of her thigh and climbed back up her body. She pulled him in for a tight hug, still shivering in the aftershocks of her orgasm. “That was - is it always like that?”

“ _ Si. _ When-” His naked cock pressed against her, and he shuddered, trying to gather his thoughts- “A man takes the time to learn what his woman enjoys.”

“And what about you? When am I allowed to learn what you enjoy?”

His erection jerked impatiently, as if agreeing. He pushed against her, gently, the liquid of her release coating the head of him, and his balls drew up tight.  _ Mierda. _

He started to pull away. Bea pushed him on to his back, walking her hand down his body. “Show me.”

He hesitated, but he’d used most of his restraint for today. A man only had so much to give.

“Please,” she added, and now the hesitation resonated in her voice.

No. He wouldn’t have that.

He took her hand and guided it down, wrapping her fingers around him. Her digits looked small and pale, and her touch was warm and so soft. He swore under his breath as she began to explore him, moving her hand up and down his length, her thumb stroking the velvety head, back and forth, spreading the pearl of liquid there.

“Bea,” he heard himself rasp.

“Show me what pleases you,” she whispered.

He covered her hand with his, started to help her stroke him in just the way he liked. She was a fast learner - had he expected anything less? - and before long he teetered on the edge of the precipice. He groaned her name, thrusting helplessly into her touch. 

“Oh, Pero,” she murmured, leaning in, nipping at his throat, licking a little path down his neck. She tightened her grip, her knuckles brushing the sensitive skin of his belly, and one more stroke of her thumb over the sensitive, swollen head of him had him falling.

He came with the gasp of a drowning man, his free hand clenched on her hip, fingers digging into her sweet curves, as she kissed him through it, murmuring words he couldn’t quite work out. 

When the galloping of his heart finally slowed, he came back into his body to see her smiling indulgently at him, and he thought he just might be the luckiest bastard in the known world.


End file.
